The Asset
by bamftastik
Summary: [occasionally NSFW] Natasha and Bucky are wonderful together in the comics, so why not make it happen in the MCU? After Steve tracks down his old friend and brings him in, Fury tasks Natasha with determining whether he's an asset or a liability. But he doesn't know about their shared history...
1. Chapter 1

Natasha stood alone in the darkened observation room, watching him through the mirrored glass. It was the first time the prisoner had been out of his cell in days, but other than a brief survey of the room – marking the exits, the racks on the wall empty of even sparring weapons – he stood frozen, his back to her. He'd been that way for nearly a half hour.

She wasn't stalling. People are most themselves when they think they're alone, especially if you let them grow restless. Most people, anyway. But this wasn't most people. He'd eliminated four Hydra cells before Rogers had been able to bring him in, singlehandedly and with extreme prejudice. Some would say he did them a favor. Steve saw it as an act of contrition, but they couldn't take any chances.

"If we're going to rebuild," Fury had said, "we'll need every asset we can get." So why was she hesitating? Was it frustration at being sidelined, tasked with playing the babysitter? Fury trusted her opinion; her evaluation would help decide the prisoner's fate. He needed someone impartial. But there were some things even Fury didn't know.

He turned then, looking directly at her through the glass. He would see only his own reflection - the dark hair and shadowed chin, the eyes that seemed so penetrating and yet so sad. They had allowed him to keep the arm, after Stark made a few modifications. He assured them it was now no more dangerous than a normal prosthetic, but that didn't make her feel better. As long as he drew breath, the Winter Soldier would be one of the deadliest men she had ever known.

She could feel his eyes on her as she bent over the computer and shut off the cameras in the training room. It had been her idea to do this here, in a language she knew they both would understand. There were no uncomfortable questions, no regrets, not in the language of violence. Fury wanted her to test his skills and that's exactly what she would do.

With a nod for the guards on the door, she stepped into the room. He still hadn't moved, stood studying his reflection as the door slid shut behind her. She knew how strange it could be, how you could forget yourself, knew better than most. He wasn't the only one whose fragmented memories had recently come rushing back. It had been easier when he was just a ghost, a target, a stranger behind a mask. That face was one she had never expected to see again.

But she wouldn't let it throw her, not now. She'd been preparing for this since Fury made his request. Even if he didn't know who this man was – _really_ was – he knew her. He knew that she would do what she had to.

She was ready when at last he turned to her, ready for anything but that empty stare, the complete lack of recognition. Still, he managed a weak smile.

"Here to beat me up? I thought they might finally be taking me to trial, but considering where we are…"

"Accountability will come later."

"When?"

"Not my department." She moved across the padded floor on silent steps. "I'm just here to talk."

"_Talk_, sure."

"The only reason you're still seeing daylight is because Steve Rogers seems to trust you. I'm here to find out if that assessment is valid."

He turned back to the mirror. "You can trust Steve." The hesitation on the name was almost imperceptible.

"Rogers didn't start a firefight in the middle of D.C."

He grimaced at his reflection, the memory overtaking him. He'd been examined, of course. The doctors had found considerable scar tissue, but without Hydra's clean slate treatments they were confident that his memory would return. She didn't envy him that. Some fragments would take longer than others, they said. She wondered how long she had.

It took him a moment to recover, his eyes finding hers in the mirror. "You were there." He turned to her, searching her face. "…Natalia?"

"Actually, it's Natasha now."

He was still struggling, grasping for something he couldn't quite reach. "Did we… know each other? I mean, before?"

It's almost enough to shake her, but she's better at this than he is. Stilling her features, she lifted her shirt, exposing the scar on her abdomen. "We've met."

"Sorry." He clearly didn't remember, but it actually sounded like he meant it. "Bet if a guy gets close enough to see that he doesn't really notice, though."

"Cute. Rogers did say you taught him how to talk to girls." She played it lightly, stepping back into the center of the sparring mat.

"Yeah?"

"Not your fault it didn't take." She gestured for him to come at her.

Still, he hesitated. "So… you're my handler now?"

"That depends."

"On?"

"On if you can be trusted. On if your skills can be of any use to us. On if this whole idea doesn't blow up in our faces."

He scowled. "My… skills. That's what you want."

"We're not Hydra. You want us to trust you because Rogers does? Rogers trusts us, trusts me. Even though maybe he shouldn't."

He lunged at her without warning, faster than she'd expected, but she grabbed his wrist, deflecting the blow as she twisted away. He was holding back, testing her.

"Something you're not telling me Natal— Natasha?"

"You're not the only one who's done things they regret." She hadn't wanted to go down this path, not yet. But to get, you had to give. "You _do_ regret what happened?"

"The hell do you think?" He swung at her again, stronger, quicker in his anger. But as she leapt lightly out of the way, he grimaced, the memory more painful than her counterpunch.

It was an advantage that she could push. He was still unstable, a victim of his own mind, of new memories and old horrors. With the right pressure, he would tell her everything. If only she could bring herself to do it.

"I think you're dangerous." It was her turn to take the offensive, each strike swift and precise, and just as easily blocked. "I think having you here is a liability." She pressed him back. "But I also know you weren't in control."

As confused and exhausted as he seemed, his form was perfect. When she dropped and attempted to sweep his legs from under him, he rolled easily aside. As he stood, her second kick connected with his chest, but he caught her ankle, holding it in both hands. With his arm at full strength, he could have crushed it easily, but she'd still left herself vulnerable. From the twitch of his lips, he knew it, too. "So that's the question. Am I in control?"

Leaping up, she kicked with both feet, pushing off of his chest and rolling away. She crouched across the mat. "They say you're getting your memories back. All the things you've done, the people you've… hurt. You might not be a slave to Hydra anymore, but the past can be even more cruel. The question is can you move past it?"

"How?" His cheeks were flushed, but he turned with her as she moved around him, mirroring her stance. "What if I can't? What if I don't deserve to?"

"I did. My ledger's just as red as yours."

"I doubt that." He struck low this time, covering the distance between them faster than she had expected, almost throwing her off balance. Almost. If he remembered, he would know it was the truth.

But she wasn't about to compare body counts. Rolling with the momentum, she spun out of the way, landing lightly on her toes.

He almost smiled. "Moves like that, you could have been a dancer."

"Maybe in another life." She pulled into a pirouette, then stretched her leg above her head. "Well? Show me what you've got."

"You asking me to dance? I don't think a girl's ever asked _me_ before."

"Is that a problem?"

He chuckled. "No, I like it."

His kick was high, aiming for her shoulder. Her own struck at his middle, but he sidestepped with ease. Offense and defense, give and take. The rhythm was old, familiar. He might even get her to break a sweat. But that thought lead down paths she'd rather not follow, not if she wanted to maintain focus.

"So how did you do it? Move past it?" He caught her eye over a deflected punch.

"I taught myself to look forward, not back."

"Isn't that counterintuitive? Looking only in one direction is how you get yourself killed."

"Says the guy refusing to see any other option." She raised an arm to block his kick. "I didn't say I forgot. I know who I am, who I was. There's no way around that. The point is to be something more, to do something to make up for it. That's the opportunity I'm here to offer you."

He considered it, twisting away as she tried to pin his arm. Flicking the hair from his eyes, he shook his head. "What if it's not enough?"

"It might never be. But we can try."

He rubbed at his shoulder. "Yeah… okay. I don't think I'm cut out for the quiet life, anyway."

Then he lunged again, putting all of his momentum into a single punch, but he wasn't looking to connect, not really. Instead he moved with her as she spun aside, pulling her back against him and pinning his arm across her middle.

His breath was warm against her ear. "How'd you get so good?"

It was an effort to maintain her calm. She pinched shut her eyes, tried not to think of how many years it had been, how it somehow felt like yesterday. "Good teachers… some of them, anyway."

She expected him to pull away, to keep fighting. He had to, because she didn't know if she could. But instead he went rigid, his grip on her tightening painfully. She could hear his breath catch, hear it return thick and ragged.

"…Natalia?"

She spun in his arms, pulling the knife from her sleeve and pressing it to his throat in one swift motion. "Let. Go."

She saw it in his eyes, everything she had hoped for, everything that she'd feared. She almost wished he'd been trying to hurt her. That, she could have handled.

"Oh god, Natalia." His eyes were wide, his face a mask of shock and relief and horror. He knew her now, knew everything. He didn't even seem to see the blade.

"Let go. _James_, let go."

He released her, taking a shaky step as her breath came rushing back. She'd likely bruised a rib, would have to have a talk with Stark about those "modifications." Taking it out on someone else would be easy. Forcing herself to raise her eyes, to meet that wondering gaze, wasn't.

"Nat, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"We're done here. I'll tell Fury you're in."

She left him there – this man who had trained with her, who had loved her, who she'd lost. Looking back was a risk she couldn't take. Stalking from the room, she left him in the hands of the guards and tried to focus on what mattered.

The prisoner would cooperate. The asset was theirs. Her mission had been accomplished. But what had she compromised?


	2. Chapter 2

He was dreaming of rain. It pounded on the high tin roof, a dull roar that echoed through the empty gymnasium. The hour and the storm had been enough to draw their audience away, but he hadn't returned to quarters. He'd rather be here, in the stillness of that constant thunder, lost to the rhythm of flesh meeting flesh. Besides, no one looked twice if two operatives wanted to put in some late night training.

Natalia squared up across the ring and sent a swift kick toward his middle. He caught her ankle, smiling as she raised her eyes to his. But her face shifted, becoming older but just as beautiful, alight with the clarity of freshly etched memory. This had happened before. Had they come for him again? Was she testing him? But this was wrong. They should be in America, an underground SHIELD facility. This place was half a world away, somewhere he hadn't been in decades.

The Natalia who crouched across the ring was young again. So was he. He could feel it, a lightness of years lifted and horror yet to come. This was a memory.

"Well?"

"Speak English. You need the practice."

"Where are you? You look far away." She was looking at him the way she used to, seeing things about him that no one else could, things he had forgotten.

But it was when, not where. Could he tell her that he'd seen the future, that these weeks in the Red Room were the only ones they'd ever have? Could he tell her that he was her prisoner, that he'd done terrible things, that all he deserved from her in the end were weighing stares and guarded questions?

The rain drummed on. It felt so real - the cool sweat on the back of his neck, the ache in his muscles, the heat rushing through him as she crossed the ring. With her looking at him like that, he couldn't bring himself to tell her she was just a ghost.

"Do you surrender?"

He smiled. "To you? Always."

She was in his arms then, pressed hard against him, her lips finding his. The thrill of it was staggering, the danger of discovery, the passion that neither of them had expected to find in a place like this. Reality still tugged at him, but he no longer cared. One hand slid to her hip, the other tangling in her hair. She was soft beneath him, painfully so. The ache that rose in him was tinged with regret, but he could taste her, feel the heat of her as he buried his face in her neck. She moaned appreciatively, her hands sliding lower. His mouth found hers again, her laughter warm against his lips.

A blast of cold hit him full in the face. It snatched the breath from him, the wind stinging his cheeks. Rain filled his eyes. No, not rain. Snow.

Natalia was gone. He was crouched behind a tree, a knife in each hand, making his way through the forest under cover of darkness. With the falling snow, it was almost serene. But he could feel them out there in the night, the enemy just ahead, his unit waiting behind while he cleared a path. He knew these woods. Another memory, years before the last.

The Hydra base would fall tonight, one of many on their path toward victory. He hadn't survived to see the end of it, but they said they'd won. His mission was to take out the perimeter guards, swiftly and silently, to keep their approach concealed. He might not be America's favorite soldier, might not have Steve's strength or speed, but he had found other ways to prove himself.

The first guard never saw him coming. He took him from behind, wrapping him in both arms and driving his blade into the soft flesh of his throat. The snow was falling harder, white and pure, painted with a sudden splash of red. The second guard tried to fight back, but he was good, even then. This was what he'd been meant for all along.

When it was over, he stared down at them, letting the cold seep through him. His chest heaved, his breath misting before him. The forest was quiet again, the knife dripping in his hand. His _good_ hand, both of them strong, both of them real. He'd done his job well. These men were Hydra. Considering what had happened since, he could almost believe they deserved it, that he owed them. And yet he couldn't look away.

Someone was watching him. He could feel their eyes. Another guard stepped from the trees, but her helmet was gone, the snowflakes catching in her long red hair.

_"Natalia?"_

No, she was never here. But she moved through the snow on silent steps, stepping unseeing over the bodies, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in her wake.

"James." She smiled up at him, the cloud of her breath mingling with his.

It was all he could see as she kissed him, white mist and falling snow. Her warmth flooded through him, enveloping him, the snow melting into rain as it fell around them. Steam filled his eyes, the weight of war falling away. His weapons were gone, his uniform vanished, but she was still there, warm and wet and naked in his arms.

They were back at the Red Room facility, washing away the day's training in the throbbing heat of the showers. Turning his face to the water, he shut his eyes, trying to forget the dream that had come before. Natalia's lips were everywhere, tracing the roughness of his chin, trailing across his chest, her tongue circling playfully around a nipple. Opening his eyes, he found her watching him, teasing with her teeth until he gasped. He tilted her chin up to kiss him, his other hand cupped against her ass, crushing her to him. The hand was strong again, the water pinging off the metal of his arm. It felt right, more familiar than the one he'd been born with, but with her it didn't matter. With her, he could be himself.

He lifted her to him, pressing her back against the slick tile of the wall. Her legs wrapped around him, her hands guiding him, her head lolling as the water flowed down her neck. He chased it with his lips, drinking deep, burying his face in her breasts, losing himself to the rhythm. They fought well together. This, they did even better.

Each thrust brought a new gasp, laughter blooming thick in her throat. Her nails bit into his back, one hand tangled in the hair on his chest. He forced his eyes open, watching her, willing himself to remember, to let this be more than a dream. His fingertips traced her face, committing it to memory, trailing to the soft dimple of her neck. He saw it again suddenly, the soldier in the snow, his blade driving deep into the exposed flesh.

He tried to shake it off, to see only her. She drew him deeper, her back arching. But then his other hand was at her throat, both of them wrapping round, horror overtaking him as he realized he couldn't stop them. It was like watching someone else, somewhere else, the years of mute and helpless witness stretching out before him.

_No. Not Natalia._

But it wasn't her. His hands closed around the throat, but the purpling face was that of a stranger. The showers were gone, replaced by the distant pounding of gunfire and falling bombs. This memory was hazier, blended to so many of the rest. A coup maybe, in a country he couldn't name. The room where he crouched was silent and still, but outside the world was changing. And he knew that he had been the cause.

The woman in his arms was dead. He'd choked the life from her, remembered how easy it had been. As he laid her back on the floor, he saw that she wasn't alone. The room was littered with fresh corpses, some shot, some stabbed, some beaten. He had killed them all.

He stepped over them on long, certain strides, making his way toward the extraction point. Around him horror reigned, men fighting and dying in the sweltering desert heat. But he didn't feel it. Those in his way fell quickly, each kill bringing a fresh rush of cold, like an echo snapping at his heels. But still he found himself pinned down.

He dove behind a crumbling wall, pressing his back against it as he reloaded. One of the men ahead was a decent shot. A bullet whizzed past just above his head, raining down brick and plaster. He saw her then, heard the shots flying back in the other direction.

_Natalia._

Natalia crouched across the street. Natalia providing covering fire. Natalia smiling at him. But that was wrong. This had been years later, years after he'd lost her, years after he'd forgotten her name. If she had been here, she never would have helped him. He knew that now.

She rose and walked toward him, caring nothing for the return fire. He shouted to her, but the words wouldn't come. Her eyes were locked to his, her steps slow and measured, crossing the battlefield like an apparition, a valkyrie come to claim him. The bullets didn't touch her.

When she took his hand, he was invincible. Together they crossed the bleeding city, fighting their way out, laughing at the thrill of it. They fought Hydra and SHIELD, soldiers and supermen, Russians and Americans. Some of the faces shone with familiar clarity and he knew them to be real, people he had killed, coming back to haunt him in the kaleidoscope of dreams.

Natalia hadn't fought with him here, but they had fought together. Those few short weeks stretched before him like years. He saw them training in the ring, earning the approval of their masters. He saw them perched above a building, waiting for a target. He saw those first stolen moments, saw himself sneaking into her quarters, wrapping her in his arms, losing himself to something that he'd thought beyond him. He could have lived in those weeks forever. But the cold crept on, just out of sight, gaining as the memories sped past.

_Natalia._

He heard her scream, saw her ripped from his arms. They'd been discovered. She was changing him. His conditioning wouldn't hold. He tried to focus, tried to keep his eyes on her, but the corners of his vision blurred, the world going white. The cold had him now, turning him to ice. And still he could hear her scream.

Her screams mingled with others. He saw them all laid out before him, every death he had caused, every horror. And through it all the cold, hounding him, freezing away every piece of him that had ever known warmth. It was tempting to give into it, to let it take away the pain, the guilt. But the memories came faster, whipping past him, blurring together, burning, searing into his mind. The screams were his now.

He didn't know when the dream released him. It left him gasping, cold and alone. He almost thought that he had wakened. But he stood in another city, perched high above the street. Bracing his rifle, he squinted down the sight. The woman was beautiful, intelligent and precise, a creature of deadly grace. There was no feeling behind the thought. It was merely an observation, distant and cold.

She'd been hunting him, had come close a time or two. But he had the advantage now. He lined up the shot, screaming in horror, a passenger trapped inside his own mind. _Natalia._ But he hadn't known her, not then. They had taken her from him, wiped all trace of her from his memory. And when she came for him, he had defended himself.

He felt his finger tense on the trigger, felt himself hesitate. A killshot. Why would it be anything else? He shook himself and set the shot again, pressing his eye to the sight. Her head whipped around, searching for him. So beautiful.

She spotted him as the shot rang out, her face filling his vision as she fell, clutching at her stomach. He'd missed. He never missed.

Again and again he felt himself pull the trigger. Again and again he watched her fall. _Natalia._ Natalia who he'd known, who he'd loved. Natalia who they'd taken from him, erased from his memory. Natalia who might have even loved him back.

Natalia who he had tried to kill.

He woke with a gasp, blinking at the ceiling above his narrow bed, the ceiling of his cell. His blanket was tangled around him, slick with sweat. But all he felt was cold.


	3. Chapter 3

"What's with this guy? Just because he's Cap's old war buddy, we're supposed to let him on the team? Last I checked, he was the bad guy." Clint flicked a series of switches on the control panel, prepping the jet for launch.

Natasha stood behind him. Fury had been monitoring Hydra's movements, had noticed them suddenly pulling out of a compromised SHIELD base. If they were abandoning it, he didn't know, but their defenses would be limited. Since they were the only team in the area, it would be their job to get inside and find out why.

She folded her arms. "So was I, once. So were you."

"Once. I didn't spend decades working for Hydra."

"He's different now."

"Since when? Since he shot you? Or since that other time when _he shot you_?"

She turned at the sound of footsteps, watching as a pair of Fury's men escorted their prisoner across the hangar. He'd had a chance to shave, had pulled his hair back into a loose knot. They'd also returned his gear, though she wouldn't have him armed. It was practicality more than instinct. Even if she thought she could trust him, even if she could imagine that his newfound memories had inspired some loyalty that would keep him from running… she couldn't let it cloud her judgment. Besides, even unarmed, James could take care of himself.

That's why she had asked Clint to come along. There was no one she trusted more to watch her back, who she trusted to watch _her_. She was testing herself, but she also knew who she was dealing with now, knew that sitting here wasn't doing her or James any good. A recon mission to an empty facility should be uneventful. Even if it wasn't, it would at least give him something to hit.

"I appreciate the concern, but I can handle James."

"Oh, sure. _James_." Clint followed her gaze. "I'm worried about you, Nat. A live op? You're not that reckless. That guy's not ready to be in the field."

He _belonged_ in the field. Not in a cell, not trapped alone with his thoughts. She'd checked the cameras enough times to see that it was killing him. Fury had wanted an asset and now he had one. James wanted to go after Hydra. This would work.

"He has nowhere else to be."

"Yeah, well, when he runs away, I'm not helping you chase him."

The agents unshackled him and James strode up the gangway, joining them in the cockpit.

"Natasha." He was being more careful with her name, but she could see the effort it cost him.

"James Barnes, Clint Barton."

James offered his hand, but Clint didn't take it.

"Yeah, hi." He turned back to the controls. "Everyone strap in. Let's get this over with."

The jet was small, one of the few that they'd been able to keep out of Hydra's hands. Two seats faced the console, with two more behind. In the rear was a small cargo bay, with a storage closet and cramped sleeping cabin. James strapped into the second row and she took the seat opposite him.

"Ready?" He'd been briefed, but they hadn't actually spoken, not since that day in the training room.

"To go after Hydra? Like you even have to ask." He turned toward her slowly, steeling himself as he met her eyes. But first his gaze flickered to the gun at her hip, measuring how easy it would be to disarm her. "I'm not getting a weapon, am I?"

Clint threw back his head and laughed. He kept laughing, chuckling to himself as they slipped out of the hangar doors and lifted into the sky. He was baiting him, but James' face remained unchanged, his eyes locked to hers.

She shook her head. "The base is deserted."

"You don't believe that. With Hydra, nothing is what it seems. I'd be more use to you if I had-"

"You're kidding right?" Clint turned in his chair. "You have got to be kidding."

James' eyes narrowed. "Barton. You're the archer, right? Hydra's produced some of the most deadly weaponry the world's ever seen. I've seen what it can do. If you really think you're going to storm one of their strongholds with a damn bow and arrow, then you're dumber than you look."

"Yeah? Well, I guess we'll find out. Unless you'd like a more personal demonstration."

"Stop it, both of you." Natasha pinched shut her eyes. "_Bozhe moi_, it's like babysitting children."

Clint turned his attention back to the controls. James sank back in his chair. But she could feel him watching her, hear him muttering beneath his breath.

"You know I have a point. You can trust me."

She knew she could, even if she didn't want to think about why. If she expected him to watch her back, she'd have to give a little trust in return.

She pulled the device from her pocket, turning it in her hands. It was small, square, with an inset screen that glowed faintly as she turned it on. Stark had better be right about this. _She_ had better be right.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she crossed the cabin and crouched beside James. He watched with interest as she held the device above his arm, as it latched on with a metallic ping. The screen flickered to life and she punched in her code.

"What's that?" He wasn't suspicious, didn't try to pull away. The light reflected in his eyes as he stared up at her and she felt a moment's guilt. He trusted her completely, even if she couldn't do the same.

She looked away. "I'm disabling Stark's modifications. You'll have full use of your arm again."

"Thanks."

"Uh, Nat? Could I talk to you?" Clint was watching them.

"Can it wait?"

"Not really."

James peered around her with a ghost of a smirk. "The lady's busy. They told me she was running this op, not you."

"Don't start." She was still bent over him, detaching the device. He caught her eye with a thin-lipped smile, their faces inches apart.

"_Natasha_. A word in private?" There was no arguing with him.

"Fine." She stood, watching as Clint set the auto-pilot. He jerked a thumb toward the cabin in the back.

As he passed, he clapped a hand on James' shoulder. "Don't crash my plane."

The cabin was cramped, with only room enough for a narrow bed and a low desk. Clint pulled the door shut behind them.

She folded her arms. "What are you doing?"

"What are _you_ doing? This is a terrible idea. And this is _me_ talking." He shook his head. "I don't like that guy. I still don't see why you brought him."

"Fury wants me to evaluate him."

"Was that what that was? An _evaluation_?"

"Really? Jealousy?"

"You know that's not it." It wasn't. She knew him better than that. "But you're taking a big risk, here. It's not like you. Not for some guy."

"I did for you. I owed you that."

"And thanks. Again. But you don't owe this guy anything."

With a sigh, she sagged back against the wall. There was no use hiding it, not from him. Clint knew her better than anyone. "What happened to him… it's partially my fault."

"Yeah, right. That doesn't make any sense."

"Before you brought me in… I knew him. He was one of the men who trained me."

"Then why is he still breathing?"

"It wasn't like that. We were close."

He sank onto the bed across from her. "So you're telling me what? That you dated? Back when he was evil?"

"He wasn't. Or if he was, so was I. They were controlling him. But it wasn't working. He started questioning orders, remembering pieces of who he'd been. They said it was my fault. What happened between us shouldn't have been possible, not with his conditioning. He shouldn't have been able to disobey." She watched it sink in, trying to gauge his reaction. "It's the reason they started keeping him in suspension, the reason they decided to wipe his mind after every mission."

"Aw, Nat." Clint leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees. He took her hand in his. She didn't need to convince him, didn't need to ask if he still had her back. They simply sat, comfortable in the silence. "So what are we doing here? What's the play?"

"We sweep the base, take out any Hydra agents that might be left."

"Yeah?" Flexing his shoulders, he smiled. "Sounds like fun."

"Enough that you'll let up on James?"

"Maybe. But if he tries anything, I'm putting an arrow through his back."

"I'm counting on it." She hoped it wouldn't come to that, but she didn't want to be the one to make that call. Clint understood. He'd make sure she didn't have to.

They found James still in his seat, his eyes following them across the cabin. "So what's the verdict? Am I getting tossed out in mid-air?"

"Not yet, you're not." Clint sat with a grunt, taking the wheel again.

Natasha strapped back in. James was staring at her again, but she shut her eyes, doing her best to ignore it.

He leaned toward her. "You vouched for me." He sounded honestly surprised.

"You said you wanted to help. If you want to make up for the things you've done, this is your chance to start."

"Thanks to you."

She settled back in her seat, watching the clouds glide past. She'd already studied Fury's notes, the blueprints of the compound. She could do it again, but she doubted she'd be able to concentrate. When it came to the mission, she was as ready as she'd ever be. Why then did she feel so unprepared?

Maybe Clint had been right. Maybe she didn't know what she was doing. Talking to him had felt like a confession, but it had helped. She couldn't go into this with one eye over her shoulder.

"What do you remember?" Her voice was a whisper, her eyes still fixed ahead. He didn't need to ask which memories she meant.

James looked up from his hands, his face lost to shadow. "I remember you… us. I remember warmth. In all that time… they're the only memories I've been happy to get back."

She drew a ragged breath.

"Did they do it to you, too?"

"They did a lot of things." She turned toward him then, resting her head against the seat. "I'm sorry I didn't know. I'm sorry I didn't realize it was you."

"Would it have made a difference?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I could have done something, found a way to help."

"You couldn't."

"I don't know. Should could have hit you on the head." Clint didn't turn around, but she'd known he was listening. "Cognitive recalibration. She's good at that."

James arched a brow.

"Clint was also brainwashed."

"By a god. Not that I'm comparing." He leaned over the controls. "But if we're done bonding over having our brains scooped out, you guys should really come see this."

She stood and walked to the window with James at her shoulder. They were approaching a mountain range, but there were lights below, swarming shadows that could only mean one thing.

Clint shook his head. "Abandoned, my ass."

When she glanced behind her, James was smiling. "Just like old times, huh?"

She couldn't help but smile with him. "I really hope not."


	4. Chapter 4

A part of him had always enjoyed this. It wasn't the pain he caused, or the surge of triumph as his opponents fell. It was simpler than that. It was the searing ache in his limbs, the crack of bone beneath his knuckles, the sound of his heart thundering in his chest. It drowned out everything else – the questions, the doubt, the guilt – all of it falling away in the pure exertion of giving everything that he had.

He'd tried to find this feeling before. For years he had tried without realizing it, tried to see past the horror, past the mission, to find some peace in the simplicity of the fight, some pleasure in a job well done. But they'd stolen even that from him. If he felt something more than the hollowness and the cold, they'd make sure he never remembered.

The barrel of a rifle connected with his chin, staggering him. This guy was good. Big, too. They'd managed to hide their approach, to scout the base from the hills above. Natalia had found them an entrance and Barton had provided the wire that dropped them down into the facility's ventilation shaft. Now it was his turn.

Bucky spat, flicking the hair from his eyes as he grinned up at the hulking Hydra goon. For all their talk of technological superiority, this guy seemed to prefer using his gun as a club. He was that type, the kind who liked to get his hands dirty. That suited Bucky just fine. Steve wasn't the only one who could take a beating.

The next punch took him in the back, the impact traveling electric up his spine. Natalia and Barton were still perched in the shaft above. He knew she'd be trying to cover him, to get a clean shot, but he wasn't in any hurry to get out of the way.

Because that had been the problem. He'd been too valuable for Hydra to let him go, to let him die. Self-preservation had been part of his programming. He knew he'd win this fight – and easily – but there was a thrill in thinking that maybe he wouldn't, that this fight might actually be his last. And, if he was being honest with himself, he probably deserved a little pain.

Above him, he heard Natalia curse. Her English was perfect now, better than he'd ever managed to teach her, but it was nice to hear her remembering her mother tongue in times of trouble. She'd taught him a few choice phrases of her own all those years ago, usually while yelling at him for being reckless.

It was time to end this. He feinted left, driving his right fist into the man's stomach. People always focused on his left arm and he'd learned to play it to his advantage. As the man staggered, Bucky grabbed him by both shoulders, pulling him down as he drove his knee up and into his chin. The jaw gave way and the man crumpled to the floor.

Natalia dropped down beside him, with Barton just behind.

"Well, you definitely took your time."

Barton meant it lightly, but Natalia was watching him with concern. She knew that he'd been dragging it out, probably knew the reason why.

"Are you all right?"

"Never better." He rubbed at his neck. "So where's this power surge?"

She'd tapped into the building's internal network to get them inside and had noticed a large amount of energy being diverted to one of the sublevels. Bucky had been awakened enough times to see the world changing, even if he hadn't remembered how it used to be. His training had exposed him to some of the advances of the modern world, but usually those that had been weaponized, that would cause maximum destruction with minimal effort. What Natalia had done was delicate, exploiting a crack in the building's defenses with just a few keystrokes. He'd watched over her shoulder, impressed.

Their intel said that this was just a storage facility, or it had been back when it belonged to SHIELD, before Hydra had turned the tables. He'd had a hand in that, even if he hadn't been in control. Whatever was going on here was at least partially his fault.

"Follow me." Natalia pressed herself against the wall, angling her gun around the next corner.

His eyes strayed to the rifle pinned beneath the fallen guard. But Barton was watching him, his hand tensed on his bow. The message behind that thin-lipped smile was clear: _just give me a reason_. Bucky held his eyes and then, with a shrug, turned and followed Natalia.

He didn't know about Barton, but she was good. So was he. They'd both been well trained in the art of staying unseen. Still, he'd expected them to encounter more resistance. The men outside did seem to be preparing to leave, loading a pair of commandeered transport trucks. The man whose jaw he'd broken was the only person they'd encountered inside. It was almost too easy.

Natalia led them through a network of empty hallways toward the stairs, with Barton covering their rear. They said he had good eyes, but as they moved deeper into the facility, Bucky found himself looking back over the archer's shoulder, his own senses straining toward the shadows.

"I've got this." Barton caught him looking and arched a brow. "You just concentrate on not freaking out and killing everyone."

"You don't feel that?"

"Of course I feel that. We're following a former Hydra agent into a Hydra base. What could go wrong?"

"I'm on your side. You can trust me."

"And a few months ago, you were on theirs." He checked his grip. "So no thanks."

"Hush." Natalia sighted around the next corner, watching to make sure the coast was clear.

He counted his breaths. They were shallow, silent. Even their footsteps made barely a sound. He'd been trained for stealth, but before that he'd been a soldier. He knew that even the most elite units still moved as one, that there was a cost to strength in numbers. The creak of a strap, the nervous shift of your weapon in your hands - any little thing could give you away. But then there was the absence of sound, deliberate and stifling, the pregnant pause of a group of people all holding their breath. It was just like... _there_.

He spun on his heel, running back the way they had come.

"James!" Natalia kept her voice to a whispered hiss, but he knew she'd be running after him, knew that Barton would have him in his sights.

He dove around a corner and collided with a wall of flesh. Hydra soldiers, half a dozen of them. The one he'd hit staggered backward, shouting in surprise as he opened fire.

Bucky hit the ground hard. Natalia was on top of him, pressing him down. She held him there as she turned and fired, toppling the soldier with a shot between the eyes. Barton came skidding to a stop beside them.

"Hold your fire!" The others were backing off. Two of them slipped behind, cutting off their escape as he and Natalia rose slowly to their feet. They were surrounded.

"Well, this is nice."

Natalia shot Barton a look. "We've been in worse situations."

"Yeah, but it wasn't your ex-boyfriend leading us into a trap."

He was getting sick of the distrust, even if he'd more than earned it. But he was surprised that Natalia had told Barton about their past. It was definitely a conversation that he would have been curious to hear.

The ring of soldiers tightened. Five on three wasn't terrible odds, even with Hydra getting the jump on them. Natalia had two of the men at gunpoint and Barton was sighting down his bow at another. All Bucky had for the other two was a menacing glower. _Yeah, screw this_.

Reaching behind him, he pulled an arrow from Barton's quiver, spinning it around and driving it through the throat of the nearest soldier. He jerked it free, kicking the next man in the knee as he plunged the arrow into his eye. Then he relieved them of their sidearms, turning in time to see Natalia and Barton finishing off the others.

As the last man slumped to the floor, he handed the arrow back to Barton. "Thanks."

He took it, eyeing the guns. When Bucky didn't look away, he held up his hands. "Okay. Fine. Keep them."

They didn't meet any resistance as they made their way deeper into the compound, descending the stairs into the sublevels. Quick as they moved, someone was bound to find the bodies, to raise the alarm. But it never came. And why had Hydra been behind them? They'd already cleared the halls. It was like they'd been keeping their distance, following them. Barton was wrong about him but, the deeper they went, the more he suspected that he was right about the rest. This was a trap.

"What did Fury tell you about this place?" Bucky followed close behind Natalia, close enough to feel the warmth of her, to smell the rich musk of her hair. But he couldn't let it distract him.

"It used to be a storage facility, but everything of real value was relocated years ago. It was last classified as a safe house."

"And he told you Hydra had abandoned it? Told you that himself?"

She glanced back at him. "Fury's dead. At least that's what we need Hydra to believe. We have an encrypted channel."

He didn't like it, wanted to ask her more. But she held up a hand for them to stop. They were here.

Natalia inched toward the door, straightening when she saw that the room was empty. Barton followed, but as Bucky stepped through the doorway, he stopped dead.

Natalia followed his gaze. "Oh, god."

He'd never been here before. He couldn't trust his memory, not yet, but he knew that it was true. They'd moved him around over the years, facility to facility, but the setup was always the same. The stasis pods glowed faintly, empty and waiting – two of them this time. Between them was the chair, the chair that haunted his nightmares, the chair where they had taken everything that he was.

He was home.


	5. Chapter 5

She was good at uncovering secrets, at finding things that people wanted to keep buried. The Red Room program had trained her well. If they'd known what she was doing, turning those same skills back on them, the consequences would be severe. But she didn't care. They wouldn't bury this.

She remembered the fear. Once, they'd used it to break her. But that training, those early missions, had hardened her. For a time, she'd thought herself above it, thought herself immune. Fear was emotion. Emotion was weakness. It was one of the first lessons that she had learned.

But James had changed things, changed her. With him, she hadn't felt weak. In those few short weeks of fighting by his side, she had felt invincible.

That had been the problem. They'd grown too bold, too sloppy. Their affair had been one of the program's worst kept secrets. Some looked the other way, but then James had started asking questions, defying orders. So had she, but she wasn't reckless enough to show it. Even after what happened, she couldn't blame him. That impulsive nobility had been one of the things that she'd loved most about him.

They'd been discovered together. He'd been ripped from her arms, disappearing so quickly and completely that she had been certain he was dead. That's when the fear had returned. She'd dared to disobey, to forget the most basic lesson. And it had cost her everything.

But she had learned that there were some things stronger than fear. She started digging, uncovering what she could, knowing full well the consequences of discovery. They were right, after all. James had been reckless, stubborn. And he had trained her well.

The Red Room buried its secrets deep. She listened well, listened where she shouldn't have, stealing documents and shipping manifests. She identified the weak links in the chain, asking questions where she could, just as she'd been taught. The poor driver who'd finally given her the location had screamed for hours.

But he'd given her hope, pointed her in the direction of an old storage facility, a graveyard for defunct weapons and failed experiments. The security was no trouble. Whatever was inside that dank and musty building wasn't worth the Red Room's best.

She'd dropped in through the ceiling, keeping to the shadows as she crept through towering aisles of unknown horrors. There was no doubt that the driver had been telling the truth. She'd been thorough, meticulously so.

When she found what she was looking for the fear returned in force, knocking the breath from her. She buried a gasp in her hand, tears stinging her eyes as she turned her face away. _Death would be better than this_. She immediately regretted the thought, but still it rang true.

James hung suspended in a thick glass pod, glowing faintly with the energy that sustained his life. It cast strange shadows on his face, a ghostly echo that reminded her of the moonlight streaming through the window on the last night he had slept beside her. She reached out for him without thinking, jerking her hand away as the cold stung her fingertips.

She didn't want to look, didn't want to feel the helpless scream welling in her chest. But she forced her eyes to open, forced herself to see what they had done. There was frost in his eyelashes. It coated his cheeks, formed delicate webs of spun crystal in his hair. Shadow deepened the hollows of his eyes and traced the line of his jaw, throwing into sharp relief the muscles of his chest, the scars that she had traced so often with her fingers. He was startlingly beautiful, but there was no peace in this sleep. The bile rose in her throat.

That's where they found her, her masters' leash tightening again. Of course, they had let her find him, let her think she was beyond their control. They'd wanted her to see this, but it was more than a lesson. This was punishment, cruelty for cruelty's sake. They never let her have a chance to mourn. Soon enough, they hadn't even let her remember.

Now she was seeing it again, only this time James was standing beside her. The pods were empty, but they bathed his face with the same eerie glow, hiding his eyes on shadow. Natasha stretched out her hand, knotting her fingers through his. He was warm. After a long moment, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

"We should go." Clint was still in the doorway, scouting back the way they had come. He'd given them a moment, but she could see the concern in his eyes. It was time.

"James?"

He stared down at her, slowly regaining focus. "...Yeah."

She'd led them into this trap, but there would be time for guilt later, time for apologies. First, she would get them out.

"Clint, do you—"

She saw too late the looming shadow in the door. It swung at Clint from behind, bashing him in the head with a sickening thunk. She lunged across the room without thinking, cradling him as he fell. He was still breathing. Above them was the same man that James had fought earlier, his jaw painfully askew, his eyes maddened.

Before she could react, there were more shapes in the darkness, crowding around them. She'd counted eighteen men outside the base. From the look of it, all of them were here. And they'd brought friends.

Even James stood frozen, his eyes darting between them, searching for a weakness, for their way out.

"Natasha, so good to see you again." The man who pushed through the crowd was shorter than the others, a slight, wide-eyed figure with a lopsided smile. "I mean, the circumstances being what they are and all."

James scowled. "Who're you?"

"Doctor Gerald Royce," Natasha answered for him. "He used to work for SHIELD."

"C'mon, Natasha. It's Jerry. You know that."

"Yeah? It looks like there's a lot I don't know about you. Like the fact that you work for Hydra."

"I know, right? This is some major super-spy stuff. The real deal."

That was the thing about Royce. He was completely nonthreatening, even likable. He'd been Science Division, the perfect model of the unassuming lab geek. Still, she should have seen it. She'd noticed him watching her more than once, but had never been able to tell if he was playing the lovestruck teenager or wondering what she might look like under his microscope.

He grinned. "But it burns you, doesn't it? That you never figured it out. Exactly how many of us did you walk past every day, without even suspecting?"

Her hand strayed to her gun, but Royce had a gun of his own. He handled it unsteadily and was prone to talking with his hands, but he had plenty of experienced men to back him up.

"C'mon, Natasha, put it down. I beat you." The idea amused him. "I mean, why should you field operatives have all the fun? Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this? I've been _dying_ to tell someone. But you know what that's like. You've changed sides more times than anyone."

"What do you want, Gerald?"

He tsked, but then his grin took on a new zeal, the light of the pods reflecting in his eyes. "I'm going to recreate the Winter Soldier Project." He looked to James with real awe, like a kid who'd captured a rare insect, just before he pulls its wings off. "Sure, it was complicated, a lot of parties involved. But _look_ at you. Look what they made."

Even in a room full of armed soldiers, she could tell James wasn't taking the threat seriously. That was the danger of men like Royce. He smirked. "Send the goons away and maybe I'll let you take a closer look. Just you and me."

"No, see, because they're _mine_." He turned back to Natasha. "A unit of my own, free reign to do what I want, what needs to be done. Those are the only conditions under which real genius can flourish. Besides, it's a hell of a promotion."

James laughed, but it wasn't for the joke. He spread his hands. "The Winter Soldier Project was a failure."

"Maybe in the end. But that's your fault, not mine. Bad source material. Garbage in, garbage out, y'know?" He ignored James' glower. "But they were onto something. In the world we live in, with the terrible things you people do, the memory restructuring becomes absolutely essential. A logical person could see that, would welcome the opportunity to erase all the horrible things that they've done. And the thermoregulative stasis will slow any breakdown in the conditioning. We could have perfect agents, operating for centuries instead of decades. It's all a matter of finding the right candidate."

"Which isn't me."

"Obviously."

"So that's your big plan? Lure me here and chop me up for parts?"

"It worked, didn't it? We know Fury's alive. Sorry to spoil your fun. And with Hydra controlling most of SHIELD's resources, you've gotten desperate, been forced into back channels. But that's the thing about back channels – they're not very secure."

Natasha watched him as talked. She or James could disarm him easily, but then they'd have at least thirty guards to deal with. Still, they had to try. She wouldn't let this happen again.

Royce crossed the room on long strides, grabbing her by the arm and thrusting his gun into her face. She let him pull her to her feet, but just barely. She needed to control her anger, wait for the right moment.

He was trying to motivate James and it was working. James looked from her to the chair, true terror in his eyes. She had never seen him so afraid.

He wet his lips, his voice thick. "What do you want from me?"

Royce grinned. "You? Why do you think this is about you?"

She wasn't ready, didn't feel the prick until it was too late. It bloomed from the back of her neck, a tingling, numbing cold that turned her limbs to lead. She saw Royce slip the syringe back into his pocket, heard him laugh as the world spun sideways and the floor rushed up to meet her.

James lunged at him with a growl, but Royce didn't flinch.

"Sputnik."

The light left him like a switch had been flipped. James crashed to the floor beside her, his face just inches from her own, his eyes staring unseeing. His chest still moved, though she couldn't reach him, couldn't do anything. Whatever Royce had injected her with had paralyzed her, but left her alert enough to feel the cold terror of what was happening to them.

Somewhere above her, she could hear Royce laughing. "Well, gentlemen, we have our candidate."


	6. Chapter 6

The world had gone white. He came awake all at once, imagining that he was still running, her name still on his lips. But his hands found only glass, his breath fogging against it. It closed in on him from all sides, his fists clenching and unclenching, pounding futilely as he choked on a wordless scream.

_Not again._ He was back in his stasis pod. Back where Hydra wanted him. Back where he belonged. It was enough to drive him beyond horror, beyond rage, beyond sense. But the most terrifying thought was still to come. _How long?_

_Natalia._ Royce had injected her, had let her fall. He remembered lunging at the man, ready to snap his neck, certain of just how easy it would be. And then there was there nothing.

No, not nothing. _Sputnik._ The word reverberated in his mind, realization dawning slowly. It was an old Soviet trick – implanting a phrase into the operative's subconscious that, when spoken, would trigger certain imperatives. In this case, a kill switch. Again, they'd turned his mind against him.

He'd never been free. He thought he could make amends, thought he could fight back, but it had all been a lie, another trick. And now they had Natalia.

He breathed slowly, in and out, deep and focused. He'd never woken up inside the stasis chamber before. Usually they had him on the table, already preparing him for whatever horrors he was meant to commit. This must be what it felt like to be buried alive. And that's exactly what they had done – taken Natalia and buried him.

But he wasn't cold. He wasn't wet. The pod was dizzyingly cramped, the glass reinforced and unyielding, but the breath that fogged against it was warm. They hadn't frozen him, only locked him inside. Pressing his palm to the glass, he wiped away the haze.

_Natalia!_ She was slumped in the chair, still connected to the machine that had wiped his mind so many times before. She was alone, as far as he could tell, the device switched off. He pounded on the glass, but she didn't stir. _Damn it!_ He had to get out of here.

Something moved to his right, beyond Natalia. They'd put Barton in chains, strung him up from the ceiling by his wrists. He was awake now, straining against his bonds as he tried to get to her. It was no use.

Then, as he watched, Barton grabbed the chain above him, pulling himself up. They'd left his feet free, given him enough slack to climb the chain like a rope. The effort still cost him. The veins in his arms bulged, his teeth grinding. Bucky pounded on the glass.

"Yeah, I hear ya. Little busy." With a grunt Barton managed to swing his legs up and pull something from his boot. Then he locked his ankles around the chain and squinted in Bucky's direction. "Just… hang on to something."

The impact was explosive. The reinforced glass took the brunt of it, the pod toppling over on its side. But the crack had been made. Bucky got what leverage he could and punched through.

By the time he pulled himself out, Barton had gotten out of his shackles.

"Grenade?"

"Explosive arrow. Or arrowhead. Always keep a spare." He knelt beside Natalia.

Bucky smoothed back her hair and started peeling the sensors from her forehead.

"Are you sure that's safe? Just pulling her out like that?"

He wasn't sure. But that didn't matter. They were leaving. "Machine's off. Whatever they did is done." They'd get her back to SHIELD, what was left of it. Their doctors had helped him, had cleared him. _And they'd been wrong._ But it was their only shot.

"Nat?" Barton leaned close. "I think she's coming around."

She was alive. Bucky lifted her into his arms, cradling her head against his chest. Barton gave him a questioning look.

"I've got her." Bucky nodded toward the door. "You going to be okay without your bow and arrows?" He wouldn't have minded a gun himself, but their weapons were nowhere to be seen.

Barton nodded. "I've got a few moves."

Bucky let him take the lead, following as quickly as he could as they made their way back up the stairs. Hydra hadn't left any guards, hadn't left anyone. Maybe they'd really evacuated. But why leave Natalia? Why leave them alive at all?

She sighed, nuzzling her face against him. Her lips twisted into a tired smile, her eyes opening slowly.

"James?"

"Hey."

He watched recognition dawn, watched her come back to him. "What happened?"

"It's okay. We're getting out of here."

She curled a hand against his chest, gripping the collar of his uniform. He'd expected her to demand to be put down, but she didn't seem to mind being in his arms. Natalia blinked up at him, her other hand sliding around behind his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair. Bucky smiled down at her.

She smiled back. And then she jerked his head down, driving her knee up and into his nose.

She leapt lightly from his arms as he staggered, landing on the stairs above him. Spinning around, she kicked him in the chest, sending him crashing into the wall. Barton spun just in time, but Natalia was faster. She lunged at him, knocking his legs from under him and pinning him down with a knee to the chest. Her electric bracelets – her Widow's Bite – flared to life, hissing as she drove them down into Barton's flesh.

Bucky was on his feet, but she was running, leaving Barton moaning on the stairs. He pressed his hands to his ears, blood running through his fingers. Bucky grabbed his shoulder, watching Natalia go.

Barton shook his head. "_Just get her!_"

He didn't hesitate, taking the stairs two at a time. He could see Natalia three turns above him. Then two. The gap that formed the center of the stairwell was wide, but he took the next turn hard, pushing off of the railing and leaping upward across the gap. He caught the next railing and hauled himself up in front of her, just as she rounded the corner.

But Natalia was ready for him. She aimed her kick high, looking to get her legs around his neck. It wouldn't be a bad way to go, really, but he'd prefer it if they could both get out of this alive. He put his hands up to block the kick and knock her aside, but she spun into him, swinging her elbow behind her. It narrowly missed his throat, sending searing pain through his collar bone instead.

If they were going to get out of this, he couldn't pull his punches. This was Natalia… and Natalia was _good_. Maybe Hydra had told her to kill him. Maybe he and Barton had just been left for practice. Whatever mission they had given her obviously involved getting out of here. But if she killed him or if she ran, he'd lose just the same.

She dropped into a crouch, squaring up to dart around him. He tensed with her, never actually moving, but leaning ever so slightly left or right as she weighed her options. Catching her eye, he smirked and shook his head.

If she couldn't go around, Natalia would go through him. She rushed him, but then they were back in the training ring again. He knew what she would try before she tried it, knew where she would strike. He didn't try to push her back, didn't take the offensive. He simply blocked each strike, letting her rage, just as he'd done then. Then it would be his turn. She'd toy with him, bait him, make him come after her and then turn his own momentum to her advantage. That's how it always ended – both of them breathless, both of them spent, changing tactics to spar with lips and tongues and fingertips.

But not today. That wasn't how this ended. He knew that now. His heel hit the step behind him. She was driving him back, forcing him up the stairs. He gave ground, using the height to his advantage. But then she dove low, driving her Widow's Bite into his shin. The current rattled through him and he stumbled, falling back against the stairs. Natalia pinned him there, straddling him. Her hair fell around him as she leaned low, tilting her head to smile down at him.

Bucky heard the current arc to life again, rolling his head out of the way as she punched the stair behind him. She gasped in pain, giving him an opening to brace his knee between them and throw her off.

But he'd kicked too hard. She landed on the stairs above him, hesitating only a moment before scrambling to her feet. And then she was gone again.

He gave chase. Natalia had reached the top of the stairs, throwing herself through the door and out into the hallway. He vaguely recognized it as the way they had come, but soon the turns became unfamiliar. He hit the next door hard, stumbling when the rain hit his face. They were back outside, in the hills above the compound. Below, the Hydra agents were piling into their trucks, abandoning the base. Natalia wasn't going with them. She was making for the jet that had brought them here.

Having her with Hydra was bad. Having her flying off in an armed SHIELD jet was worse. Whatever they'd ordered her to do, it wasn't here. And if he let her get to that plane, she could go anywhere.

"_Natalia!_"

She stopped, looking back at him through the rain.

"I know you're still in there." He made his way toward her, hands upraised. "I think that's why you're running. I don't think you want to hurt me."

She brushed the hair from her eyes. "You're not my mission."

"Yeah, well, I'm making you mine."

"Cute." She smiled. "You always were cute." Raising her wrist, she aimed her Bite at him. "But let's just say you're not the man for me."

He knew what she meant. It was an assassination mission. "Yeah? Who is?"

Turning on her heel, she ran again, but he closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm, spinning her around. He saw too late the cliff's edge, a sudden burst of lightning illuminating the abyss behind her.

"Damn it." He pulled her to him. "Hang on. I've got you."

She kept struggling. One slip and she'd pitch back over the edge. He grabbed her by both shoulders. "Natalia, stop. Just stop it. You don't have to do this."

She went suddenly still, her voice soft, almost imperceptible above the pounding rain. "You're right. I don't. But you haven't left me any choice." She grabbed his arm and spun him around, putting his back to the cliff. Then she slammed her boot into his chest, launching him over the edge.

Natalia watched him fall. Switching on her communicator, she brought it to her lips. "Fury, it's Natasha. We have a situation. I need to come in."


	7. Chapter 7

He felt like he'd been falling forever. He'd fallen on the day he died, plummeting from the train into the icy river below. He'd fallen again a few short months ago, on the day that Steve had brought him back to life. This time, though, there would be no one coming to look for him, no water to break his fall. At least he hoped there wasn't. He didn't think he could manage getting up again.

The rain streamed down around him and Bucky opened his arms, turning his face to the sky. He'd failed Natalia. One more regret to go with all the rest. But soon it would be over.

His arm jerked suddenly, painfully above his head. The force of it swung him sideways, barely giving him time to shield his face before he collided with the cliff face. Blinking the rain from his eyes, he looked up and found Barton above him, gripping his forearm.

"Let me guess - she kicked your ass?" He'd recovered his bow. They both hung suspended by it, a rappelling line disappearing into the darkness above them.

"…How?"

"While you guys were playing tag, I found an elevator and doubled back to the jet. Always keep a spare."

"The jet. Natalia. She's going after Fury."

Barton scowled, realizing what that meant. Nick Fury might be the spy of spies, but if anyone was capable of taking him out, it was her. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

"Then what are we hanging around here for?" He pressed a button on the bow and the cable retracted, jerking them upward. When they reached the top, he helped Bucky over the cliff's edge, nodding to his arm. "You're unbelievably heavy. How much does that thing weigh, anyway? "

"Enough." He scanned the darkness. The rain was letting up, but there was no sign of Natalia. "You should have stopped her, gone after her. You shouldn't have…"

"What? Saved your life?" Barton rubbed at his shoulder. "You're welcome, by the way."

"We need to get to the jet. We might already be too late."

"I wouldn't worry about that." He pulled something from his pocket and held it up for inspection. It looked like some kind of circuit board. "She's not going anywhere."

"What's that?"

"Something's she's gonna need if she wants to get airborne."

"You disabled the jet." Finally, some good news. "How did you know that's where she was going?"

Barton stuffed the thing back into his pocket and ran a hand through his hair. "Actually, I took it when we landed. I figured it would be _you_ turning on us and making a run for it."

"Great." Bucky eyed his bow. "I guess that means you didn't bring anything for me?"

With a sigh, Barton pulled a pistol from his belt. "Here." He held it out grip first, but when Bucky took it he didn't let go. Barton pulled him closer, holding his gaze. "Just… don't shoot her. Not unless you absolutely have to."

"Trust me, it won't come to that." He couldn't promise that, but the words almost made him feel better. Barton had given them a chance and he intended to use it.

They made their way into the hills, using piles of fallen rock as cover. The jet was still where they had left it, the exterior lights glaring through the rain. Bucky shielded his eyes. Natalia was inside, sitting behind the controls. From the look on her face, she'd realized she was trapped.

He turned to Barton. "Give me the thing, the piece that you took."

Barton looked doubtful, but he handed it over. "What are you gonna do?"

Bucky smirked. "Something stupid."

He stepped out from behind the rocks, his hands upraised. He was exposed, half-blind, but he kept moving forward, squinting against the light. "Natalia!"

Her head jerked up.

With a grin, he held up the part. "Missing something?"

Natalia smiled back, her hands sliding over the controls. He heard the guns spinning up a split second before they fired, the turrets mounted on each side of the cockpit suddenly flaring to life.

"Damn it!" He leapt out of the way as the ground erupted at his feet, diving back behind the rocks.

Barton was crouched beside him. "Well, you weren't wrong about the stupid."

"I thought you said you disabled the plane!"

"No, I said I disabled the flight capabilities. Guns are still guns." He rose slowly, peering above their cover. Then he set his bow, nocking an arrow and squinting down the shaft. "Just… give me one… second…"

Bucky heard the impact, heard one of the guns fall silent. Barton smirked. But there were other sounds now – shouting behind them, the sound of boots pounding through the mud. Barton whirled in one smooth motion, his next arrow taking the first of the Hydra agents in the chest. Natalia might be trapped, but the cavalry had arrived.

Bucky fired twice, watched two more men fall. They didn't have time for a firefight. Back in the jet, Natalia adjusted her aim, bullets ricocheting off the rock behind them.

Barton caught his eye. "Go! I've got this." He loosed again, another Hydra agent falling to his knees.

Bucky didn't hesitate. He launched himself back into the open, running for the underside of the plane. A bullet whizzed past him from behind and he dimly registered the groan as the shooter fell beneath Barton's arrows. Natalia wouldn't be so easy.

The ground came alive beneath him again as she fired. Bucky launched himself forward, barely staying ahead of it as he skidded into the shadow of the plane. Then he reached up, using the full strength of his arm to rip the gun free of its mounting. He crushed the barrel for good measure, tossing it aside as he hauled himself up onto the front of the jet.

"Natalia!"

She raised her gun, firing at him through the windshield. The glass was bulletproof, but it did nothing to stop her glare.

"Natalia, stop!" He held up the missing piece, pressing it against the glass. "Come out and we can talk."

He'd left her no other option. He knew it and so did she. As she disappeared, he heard the gangway being lowered and risked a glance behind him. Barton had found new cover, setting himself up to bottleneck the path. He seemed to be holding his own.

Natalia stepped around the jet with her gun raised. Leaping down, Bucky raised his own.

"Give it to me."

"Not gonna happen."

She planted her feet, taking aim. "If I'm not leaving, then neither are you."

"Or we could leave together." He slipped the part into his pocket and held out his hand. "Hydra messed with your head. I know what that feels like, you know I do. You think you have to do this… and maybe you do. That's the point. Fighting it is impossible."

It wasn't what she'd expected. She shifted her grip on the gun, hesitating. "Then hand it over."

"I'm not letting you go after Fury. You wouldn't want that."

She shook her head. "Why? What's your loyalty to Fury? You tried to kill him yourself not that long ago."

"That wasn't me. And this isn't you."

"You said there was no point in fighting."

He smiled. "Not for you. Not when they're in your head. But I still can." And then he opened fire.

* * *

The impact stung her fingers, the gun flying from her hand. Barnes was a better shot than she'd remembered. They'd left her that, at least, seen the obvious advantage in having an intimate knowledge of your opponents. He shouldn't have been able to use it against her. She shouldn't have let him.

But then he tossed his own gun aside. He was still holding back, trying not to hurt her. He had to know what that meant. He was going to lose. He was going to make her hurt him.

Barnes launched himself at her, knocking them both back into the mud. He had the leverage, used it to pin her down. His hair fell loose around his face as he rocked back on his heels, the rain streaming down around them. She'd been here before, breathless and aching and staring up at him. But that didn't matter now. What mattered was the mission.

She aimed a jab at his chin, but he caught her wrist, pinning it above her head. It forced him to lean low, his face just inches from hers. He was flushed, bruised, with a nasty cut above one eye. But what she saw reflected in that gaze was worse. She could hit him all night and not come near that kind of pain. Barnes was remembering, too.

She rolled her hips against him, arching her back, her tongue wetting her lips. It was almost too easy. He'd made the mistake of holding her with his good arm. She nuzzled her face against it, laughing as she felt him stiffen. Then she sank her teeth deep into his flesh.

He reared back in surprise, giving her the leverage she needed to throw him off. She jabbed the heel of her hand into his collar bone where she had hit him before, regaining her feet as he moaned. Their guns were nowhere to be seen, but she wasn't exactly unarmed.

She felt the bulge in her belt, the tiny device in her pouch. His own people had given her the means to bring him down. She just needed to get him close.

"James?"

His reaction was immediate, predictable. She let herself swoon and then he was there, gathering her into his arms

"Fight it, Natalia. Natasha. I know you're still in there. This isn't you."

She smiled up at him. James Buchanan Barnes. She knew him. The Winter Soldier was deadly, untouchable, unkillable. This man was something else. Even through the rain, she could feel the warmth of him. It echoed back through memory – the feel of his arms, the taste of his lips, the searing pain of the bullet he'd sent ripping through her. It was almost distracting. But he was right. She was still her.

Leaning close, she pushed up on her toes, her lips a hairsbreadth from his. Then she pulled Stark's modulation device from her belt, slapping in onto his arm and punching the screen in one swift motion. It sparked, giving off an electric hiss, and then the arm went dead.

Barnes grunted, but kept his feet. The arm was heavy, dragging him down. His other arm remained locked to her waist, pulling her roughly to him, refusing to let go. "_Natasha_."

She braced her palms again his chest, sliding her Widow's Bite up to press against his throat. She would do it. She had to.

But Barnes was stubborn. Breathless and pained, he still managed to smile down at her, searching her face for something that he wouldn't find. Once, that smile had been enough, enough to make her risk everything, enough to nearly get them both killed. But that had been another life, another woman. She was the Black Widow. And he was in her way.

He kissed her, then, crushing her against him, caring nothing for the rain or the fleeing Hydra agents, for the weapon charging against his chest. He was desperate, trying to overwhelm her. It was tempting. She let herself be swept up in it, not in the memories, but in the now. It was a hell of a kiss. But this wasn't a fairy tale.

She fired, pushing him away as her gauntlets sparked. He screamed, his back arching as the shock tore through him. And then he was down.

"Hey, Nat."

She turned. _Barton._

"Sorry about this." He had his bow in his hand. "But you'll thank me later."

He swung at her before she could scream, before she could dodge. And then the world went black.


	8. Chapter 8

Sound returned first. It came in faint snatches – the steady beep of a heart monitor, the whisper of her breath, someone muttering off to her left. She let it wash over her, let the quiet rhythm dull the pounding in her head. Her back ached and her legs were cramped, but she was awake. And anything was better than the dreams.

Natasha opened her eyes. She was in a sterile room, not a hospital, but close enough. And she wasn't alone.

James dozed in the chair beside her bed, his chin sagging to his chest. Someone had bandaged the cut on his face, tended his scrapes and bruises. But his hair was loose and disheveled, his borrowed t-shirt rumpled. How long had he been waiting there?

The dreams still had their hold on her, old nightmares and more recent ones, things she wished she'd only imagined. She'd made many of those bruises herself. But James hadn't given up on her. He was still here and so was she.

She flexed her fingers and slid her hand across the bed, reaching for him. It was then that she noticed the straps, tethering her wrists and ankles to the railing that ringed the bed. Reality came crashing back but, given what had happened, it was a smart move. She couldn't blame them for being cautious.

"James."

He stirred, muttering again. His lips twitched, his brow drawing low as he struggled against something that she couldn't see. She wasn't the only one with nightmares.

Useless as it was, she reached for him, straining against her bonds. "_James_."

He startled awake, shoulders tensing as he gripped the arms of the chair. But when he saw her his expression softened, his eyes flooding with relief. He made no effort to hide it, to stop the sleepy smile that cracked into a yawn. After all the games, a lifetime of reflexively keeping her emotions in check, the honesty of it was enough to give her pause. But that was James. With him, she'd never had to hide.

"Hey." He reached over and took her hand.

"Hey." She wet her lips. Her throat was painfully dry, her tongue too thick. "Water?"

He had a pitcher waiting. Bound as she was, he had to stand, leaning over her as he held the cup to her lips. "Here… easy…. Unless this is just a ploy to get me to untie you?"

"I wouldn't complain."

"Sorry." He shook his head, setting the cup down and sinking back into the chair. "It's not my call."

"Look at you, following orders."

He chuckled. "You're the one who wanted me to play for the team. And it's nice, having a choice. Having orders worth following."

She smiled at that, shifting against the pillows. "So who ordered you to keep an eye on me?"

"No one." He blinked, his expression growing distant. "They're not keeping me locked up anymore and I just… didn't know where else to be." He took her hand again. "I'm glad you're back, Natasha."

"You called me 'Natasha.'"

"Yeah, well, it's growing on me."

She wanted to say something more, to find some way to apologize, no matter how small the words seemed. But his hand tightened around hers, the pressure accepting, reassuring. He already knew.

"…How bad?"

He shook his head. "By my standards or yours? Either way, I'd say the damage was minimal."

She nodded toward the bandage on his forehead.

"Yeah, you kicked my ass pretty good. But I've had worse." His eyes strayed to her belly, to the scar hidden beneath the sheets. "I've done worse."

"Me too." She ran her thumb across his knuckles, studying his hand. Her eyes snapped up. "Barton. Is he…?"

James grinned. "Strutting around like a big goddamn hero? Maybe a little. But he earned it, saved me more times than I care to admit. He also hit you really hard on the head."

"Cognitive recalibration. I remember." She closed her eyes, feeling the pounding ache behind her temples. "But I didn't hurt him? I thought—"

"Ruptured ear drum. He's gonna be fine."

"I'm glad you two are getting along."

"Yeah, we'll see. I _may_ have bet him that I could catch anything he shot at me. We're supposed to meet up later to find out." He hesitated, brushing the hair from his eyes. "I mean, after."

After they determined if she was still a threat. After they decided what to do with her. She settled back, fixing her eyes to the ceiling. "And what's the status on that?"

"The doctors had a look at you. Used some of the same techniques that they used on me." He scowled. "Why they always think the solution to having your head messed with is messing with it some more, I don't know. But they don't think your memory was affected, not any more than it already was."

She knew how he felt. There were things in her past that she wished she didn't remember, things about herself that she'd been forced to forget. The holes were in all the wrong places. She'd fought hard to find this path, to be her own person, but the scars remained. And they would always make her susceptible.

"What about the mission?"

"Yeah, that…" James trailed off, listening. There were footsteps in the hallway outside. He gave her a reassuring look and squeezed her hand again. "Just so you know, I'm not going anywhere."

The handle turned and Fury filled the doorway, his coat swaying behind him. He wasn't bothering to hide anymore. James or Clint must have told him that Hydra knew he was still alive. His eyes swept the room, taking in the monitors, her cuffs, the hand that James still wrapped protectively around hers.

"Don't get up."

She rolled her eyes. "Funny."

Fury moved to the end of the bed, resting his hands on the railing as he looked down at her. She knew why he was here. The doctors could poke and prod all they wanted, but there was only one way to know for sure.

"Barnes, you can go."

James settled back in the chair and folded his arms. "I think I'll stay."

Fury looked over at him, his eye narrowing. "Rogers and Romanoff both vouch for this little change of heart of yours. And while I appreciate you bringing Natasha in – and I _do_ – I can take care of myself."

"Not from what I saw."

Fury walked around the bed, slowly, calmly. Stopping in front of James, he braced both hands on the arms of the chair and leaned close. "And yet here I stand. So maybe you're not as good as you think you are." He tilted his head, daring him to flinch. "I've _got_ this."

James stared up at him, unblinking. "I'm not staying for you."

"If you boys are finished, I'd really like to be untied now." It wasn't entirely true, but if this turned into a pissing contest they could be here all day.

They stared at each other for another moment before Fury returned to the foot of the bed. It couldn't be easy to turn your back on the man who killed you, who'd helped bring your life's work crashing down around you. But his eyes locked to hers, searching her face.

"How are you feeling?"

She knew what he meant. She was sore, bruised, desperately hungry. But they'd all been there. It came with the job. He was asking something else.

"Good… I think."

"No homicidal urges?"

She tried a smile. "No more than usual."

"And if I untie this…" He toyed with her ankle cuff. "You gonna put a bullet in my head?"

"I didn't think you'd actually come in here armed."

"With you, I'm not taking any chances."

"Aw thanks, Nick."

There was no more point in stalling. She knew what it felt like to be in control, knew what it felt like when she wasn't. She didn't _feel_ like she wanted to kill him, didn't feel the pulse that had pounded through her on the cliff, the insistent echo that would only stop when her target was dead. Her head still throbbed, but that was different. It had to be.

She sighed, steeling herself. Fury would let this be her choice. "Do it."

James leaned close, his smile encouraging. He wasn't bracing to fight her, wasn't preparing for the worst. He trusted her. It was something she was going to have to get used to.

Fury freed her legs and moved around to her arms, talking as he worked. "The docs cleared you. The same ones who worked on me, who took a look at the kid here."

James scowled at that, but kept his mouth shut.

"They learned a lot, poking around in his head. Enough that they were able to extract the mission that Hydra implanted in yours." He glanced over at James. "You might owe him more than you think."

He had no idea. But her arms were free now. She flexed her wrists, made herself look up at him, made herself meet his eye. Then she took a deep breath and held it, counting down before she exhaled.

"We good here?"

Slowly, she nodded. "We're good."

Fury offered his hand and she took it. "You rest up, Natasha. Consider that an order." He looked to James. "And you… keep an eye on her."

"I thought I was keeping an eye on him."

Fury looked between them and shook his head. Then he was gone.

"You heard the man. You're not getting out of that bed until you've gotten some actual rest."

She smirked. He knew her too well. She desperately wanted to get up and stretch her legs. But she knew him, too. James would keep her here no matter how much she squirmed. _Especially_ if she squirmed.

"What about you? You look like you haven't slept in days."

He stood, resting his elbows on the railing as he leaned over her. "I haven't. Not if I can help it." He shook his head. "Trust me, I'd rather be here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She pushed into a sitting position, cupping his cheek in her hand. The gesture surprised him, but he didn't back away. His eyes were still shadowed, haunted, but that smile was real. Natasha smiled back.

She couldn't say which of them moved first. But then his lips were on hers, her arms wrapping around to pull him closer. Guilt could wait. The nightmares would always be there. But for now there was only the warmth of him, the roughness of his chin, the strength of his arms as they slipped around her waist.

She wasn't going anywhere. Orders were orders, after all.


	9. Chapter 9

The world was resilient. He'd forgotten that, along with so many other things. But he saw signs of it everywhere he looked – streets being cleared, buildings being rebuilt, people going about their lives even in the wake of violence and terror. They'd told him he shaped the century – through death, through fear – but that wasn't entirely true. It was what came after that mattered, all the ways that the world found to heal itself. The future was shaped by those who stuck around to clean up the mess.

So where did that leave him? It had been so long since he'd _had_ a future. Even the idea of it was strange, overwhelming. But whatever it held had to be better than the past. He just had to start small.

Coffee was small, normal. He should be able to handle normal.

Shrugging deeper into his jacket, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and scanned the cafe. The tables spilled out onto the sidewalk, most of them empty at this time of the afternoon. His contact wasn't here yet. No, not his contact. This wasn't a mission. But it was still a struggle to think of things any other way.

He glanced back down the street, reconsidering the whole idea. Why was he so damn nervous?

"Hey, Buck."

He turned slowly. Steve stood behind him with a cup in each hand, a thin-lipped smile just visible beneath the brim of his cap. Last time they'd seen each other, he'd been tracking a Hydra strike force. Steve had crashed the party and they'd fought side-by-side, almost like old times. Afterwards, he'd convinced him to come in, that there were people who could help him. But then he'd been called away again, off to save the world. Captain friggin' America.

Bucky couldn't help by smile back, his nervousness forgotten. This was _Steve_. And now he remembered what that meant.

He nodded to a table and they sat down. Steve passed one of the cups, keeping his face carefully still as he watched Bucky take his first sip. It definitely wasn't any kind of coffee he remembered. Steve was struggling not to laugh.

Bucky set down his cup. "Welcome to the future, huh?"

"Afraid I'm not the best tour guide. But I can tell you it does get easier."

Easier for him, maybe. Steve had died a hero, had woken up and kept saving the world without missing a beat. _He'd_ died… and become something else.

Steve was watching him with concern, but he didn't press. They shared the silence, watching the world move on by. It was nice. But if this was really supposed to be like old times, he'd be drinking something stronger. He almost wished he was.

Steve took another sip, watching him over the rim of his cup. "So… you and Natasha?"

"Oh, we're going right to that, are we?"

Steve grinned. "You always did pick girls that terrified me."

"Way I remember it, that was all of them."

It felt good to laugh again. But if Steve was looking for details, he was going to have to look somewhere else. Bucky had never been shy. He'd even made up a few stories, back when that was as close as Steve ever seemed likely to get to the real thing. But with Natasha he knew better. If she found out they'd turned into a couple of gossipy old men, he was in for a world of hurt. Even if he might enjoy it.

"It's kind of ironic, actually." Steve shook his head, smiling to himself. "She's been trying to find me a date for months and I ended up finding her one. I mean, technically."

Bucky chuckled. "Well, if we're getting _technical_, Natasha and I go back a little further than that."

"So I hear. How does that work, anyway?"

"The Red Room." He looked down at the table. "It's where she was trained, where I was trained. I didn't know who I was at the time, but that didn't matter. She saw me anyway. It didn't last long. When I was with her… I started remembering things. Not a lot, but enough that they noticed."

"She helped you fight it."

He shook his head. "She couldn't, not like that. I wouldn't have let her. But I was reckless. I started questioning orders, even yelled at my handler in English one day without realizing it. That was the last straw. They put me back into cryo. I never knew what happened to her, wasn't there to stop it."

"She got out." Steve was holding his gaze across the table, strong and steady. "So did you."

"But after what? After how long? All the things I did… what I _almost_ did…" That was the heart of it, why it was so hard to look him in the eye. Steve had looked at him like this before, not so long ago. He'd been trying to hold him together, to bring him back to the world. And for that, he'd almost killed him.

"You saved my life. Maybe you think I don't remember, but I do. You came after me, pulled me out of the river. You did for me what I never did for you." He held up a hand before Bucky could protest. "I read the file. Yeah, there's a lot of bad stuff in there. But that's on me. I didn't save you. I didn't come looking." He reached across the table and put a hand on his arm. "You don't have to carry this alone."

He shook his head. "Steve, don't. Don't blame yourself."

"You can't tell me what to do anymore, Buck." He smiled. "I'm bigger than you, remember?"

People used to tell him he was stubborn. Those people had obviously never met Steve Rogers. Even if he didn't believe him, the words were nice to hear. Those deaths were on him, but Steve had given him a way to make up for it. To try, at least.

"Speaking of remembering… how are you doing with that?"

Bucky sighed. "A lot of it's come back. Even if I wish it hadn't. I don't sleep much."

"Me neither. I guess we've both had enough." Steve smirked. "Unless you mean that Natasha's been keeping you—"

"I just remembered something else. You're a punk."

Steve laughed, looking up as a motorcycle came roaring around the corner. Bucky turned to follow his gaze, but he wasn't smiling for the sleek black bike, or the quiet purr as it pulled up to the curb. He was watching the rider, grinning as she pulled off her helmet and shook out her hair.

He glanced back at Steve. "Everything that's happened, everything since the war… Natasha was the one good thing in all of it."

"I'm happy for you, Buck."

Natasha tucked the helmet under her arm and strode toward them. "You boys enjoying the senior citizens' discount?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Getting kind of old, Natasha."

"You would know." She smiled down at Bucky and tossed him the keys. "Brought you something."

He grinned, eyeing the bike again. "Looks better with you on it."

"I know. We've got work to do."

Steve looked up. "A mission? Need my help?"

"Fury has us tracking down what's left of Hydra, the rats that didn't go down with the ship." Bucky smiled at him across the table, holding his gaze. "You know I'm here if you need me, Steve, but I just… need to do my own thing for a while. This is what I'm good at. And I know Hydra. I _owe_ them."

"I don't want you running off half-cocked on some revenge mission."

He smirked. "Who me?"

"Don't worry, Cap." Natasha put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "I'll keep him off the grid, won't let him do anything too stupid."

Steve laughed. "Good luck with that."

"Jerk."

They stood. After a moment's hesitation, Bucky held out his hand. But Steve ignored it, pulling him into a fierce hug.

"Stay safe, Buck."

"You too, Steve."

He climbed onto the bike with one last wave, Natasha climbing on behind him. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers trailing lightly over his stomach as she snuggled close to rest her chin on his shoulder. He caught her smiling at him from the corner of his eye.

"What?"

She pursed her lips. "Just you."

The bike roared to life beneath them. He didn't need to ask where they were going. There would be time for that later. For now, there was only the road falling away behind them, the wind whipping through his hair… and Natasha. Natasha wrapped around him, Natasha teasing at his belt, Natasha laughing in his ear. He didn't deserve any of it. He had no right to be this lucky. But maybe – just maybe – he could earn it.


	10. NSFW Extra Scene

They rode until the outskirts of town, rode until the sky was streaked with red and orange and purple. Behind him on the motorcycle, Natasha tightened her grip, leaning close to shout into his ear.

"Turn here!"

James complied, banking onto an empty side street that cut through a block of warehouses.

"Here."

He turned again, guided by the gentle pressure of her hands against his stomach, her knees gripping tight to either side of him as they leaned into the curve. Their destination was a windowless building with shuttered cargo bay doors, hulking and abandoned like all the rest.

James cut the engine and ran a hand through his hair. "This is it?"

She nodded, stepping smoothly off the bike. "I've arranged transport for the morning. This is a safe house."

"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s?"

"One of mine."

He smirked. "You brought me back to your place?"

"Just a place. Somewhere to spend the night."

"Right. For the mission."

She stepped away but he grabbed her arm, pulling her back to him. He grinned as she slipped a leg back over the bike and sat facing him, his hands resting lightly on her hips.

"So what's the plan?" He buried the question in her hair, his lips trailing down her neck.

"Not here."

He took it as a challenge, one hand slipping behind her to pull her closer, the other sliding her jacket from her shoulder as his lips traced her collar bone. Natasha let her eyes fall closed, toying with the collar of his shirt, uncertain whether she was pushing him away or pulling him closer. His lips found hers, one hand sweeping the hair from her face while he lifted her into his lap. The bike rocked beneath them, but he kept it steady, her legs wrapping round his waist.

With some difficulty, she pulled away, trailing breathless kisses along his jaw. "It's only a safe house if you go inside."

"Mm hm." He held her hips as she leaned back against the handlebars, his eyes roaming along the length of her, savoring the view. Bending low, he lay a teasing kiss on her belly. "Inside?"

"Inside."

She slid off of the bike and located the hidden DNA scanner beside the garage door. The door rattled upward and James wheeled the bike inside, never taking his eyes from her.

"We secure?"

"As good as we're going to get."

He swung himself off the bike and shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over the seat. The last of the light glinted off his arm as the door slid closed, the garage falling into darkness as he stalked toward her.

She wet her lips. "Just you and me now."

"Good." He closed the distance between them, pressing her back against the wall as the shadows closed in. But he didn't kiss her, barely touched her. His hands slid lightly down her arms, sending shivers up her spine. Then he chuckled. "So. Wanna give me the tour?"

He was teasing her. She'd tensed without realizing it, holding her breath. With a ragged sigh, she grabbed his hand and steered him toward the inner door. "_Eblan_."

"That's not nice."

The apartment was small, furnished with only a couch and coffee table, a narrow kitchenette and a bed pushed into the corner. Stepping inside, James dropped her hand and moved wide-eyed toward the rear wall.

"Holy shit."

She pursed her lips. "Just the essentials."

"Essential for what? Storming the Pentagon?" He turned his back on the wall and grinned at her. They stretched almost to the ceiling, mounted for easy access and sorted by application. Just two dozen of her favorite guns.

She shrugged. "I like looking at them, knowing I'm prepared. It's… soothing."

"Remind me to get you a painting or something."

She smiled. So did he. The moment stretched between them. They'd found each other again, trained together, fought together, brought each other back from the brink. It was almost like old times. Almost.

They'd never had many quiet moments. Even all those years ago, they'd been forced to meet in secret, to hurry, to keep quiet, always fearful of being discovered. Tonight, she intended to take her time.

He was watching her with a bemused expression. "What?"

"Oh, nothing." She turned away from him, slipping off her jacket and tossing it on the couch. Beneath, her arms were bare and she could feel his eyes on her back as she ran her fingers through her hair.

"Are you going to brief me?"

She turned slowly, crossing the room on swaying steps. His grin widened as she drew close, his brows drawing low as she trailed a finger down his chest and smiled up at him. "Something like that."

She pushed up on her toes but turned her face away as he moved to kiss her, reaching for the KG-9 just above his shoulder. Then she checked the clip, turned her back to him as she sighted down the barrel.

James laughed, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her back against him. "Funny."

"I thought so."

He rested his chin on her shoulder as she took aim at each corner of the apartment. But then his hands were sliding lower, tracing her curves, teasing across her belly.

Natasha squared her shoulders. "You're being distracting."

"So are you."

He nipped at her neck and she whirled on him, dropping the gun. His kiss was rough, eager, and she opened herself to it, pressing her palms against his chest. When she shoved him back against the wall, his laugh was breathless, his eyes roaming to the arsenal on either side. She pinned him between a .22 and a modified luger, the MP-5 above them rattling in its rack as she pulled him down into another kiss.

His hands moved to the small of her back, slipping beneath her tank top and pulling it up and over her head. Together they made short work of his shirt, her eyes raking across his chest, over the tense ridges of his abdomen, following the deep groove of his hips where they disappeared into his jeans. She hooked a finger in his belt, jerking him to her, but her eyes were drawn to the scars on his shoulder, still as red and angry as she remembered. Gently, she pressed her lips against them, trailing kissed toward his heart.

She'd traced these scars before. By then she'd already had a few of her own and James had found them all. In that world of lies, they had shared as much as they could. And now, knowing the rest, knowing who he had been, was enough to make her eyes sting.

James cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes, to see him smiling down at her. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he lifted her easily, cradling her against his chest as he carried her toward the bed.

The movement was so sudden that she had to laugh. "Sometimes I forget how old-fashioned you are."

He laid her back against the pillows, flicking the hair from his eyes as he leaned over her. "We did get a few things right, back then."

It was hard to argue with that as his lips brushed hers, as they moved down her neck and along her shoulder. They found the bullet wound there, fresh and barely healed. He had left his mark on her again, just a few weeks ago. Now he pressed his lips against it, gently but insistently, raising his eyes to hers. She ran her fingers through his hair, stroking, reassuring, accepting the apology in his eyes.

Then his lips were moving lower, over the rise of her breast, following the plunge of her bra as his hand slipped beneath her to unhook it. When she gasped, he drew back in concern.

"What?"

"Nothing." She shook her head. "Cold hands."

His smile was sheepish. "Sorry."

"It's okay. Really."

With a smirk, he tightened his grip, his arm whirring as he ripped the bra away.

"Hey, I _liked_ that one." Before he could apologize again, she took his face in both hands, pulling him up for another kiss.

Her hands roamed over his back, finding old scars and new, feeling the tension as he pressed himself against her. Then he was sliding lower, burying his face in her breasts, nipping, sucking, teasing. Her head lolled back against the pillow as his lips moved down across her belly, seeking out the other scar that he had made. His tongue circled it, trailing along her hip, lower and lower still.

"James…"

He smiled up at her from beneath lowered brows. "I guess I have to get used to people calling me that again." He nipped teasingly at the top of her pants. "But I like it best when you say it."

"James," she said again, more deliberately.

"Mm." He undid the top button. "One more time?"

"James."

Slowly, he slid the zipper down.

She smirked, giving it her most breathless bedroom voice. "Bucky."

Laughing, he pulled her toward the end of the bed, lifting her leg to remove her boot. Of course, he found the knife there, twirling it between his fingers before setting it aside. Pulling a pair of blades from his own belt, he added them to the growing pile of weaponry and discarded clothing.

She raised her hips as he peeled her pants slowly away, saw him smile as he trailed a finger along the lace beneath. Then that too was gone, slipping down across her hips as he leaned close. His hands were cold but his breath was warm.

He kissed the scar on her belly again, moving with more urgency now, kneeling beside the bed as he buried his face against her. She opened herself to him, hooking a leg behind him to pull him closer.

He knew what he was doing but, then again, he always had. One hand snaked up to cup her breast, hard but not too hard, her nipple stiffening against the cold. The other – the warm one – played along the inside of her thigh, teasing, tickling, parting the warmth of her as James sighed. She sighed with him, pressing her hips upward, her chest heaving with every new twist of his tongue.

She ran her hands along his arm, down to the hair that obscured his face. "James…" Wetting her lips, she tried again, her voice stronger. "Come here."

He lingered a moment more, tasting her, breathing deep. Then he was rising above her, letting her pull her to him, covering her mouth with his. Her hands moved between them, tracing the lines of his chest, tearing at the button of his jeans. He chuckled, still kissing her as he wriggled out of them.

Looking down, she laughed.

"Whoa. Not the reaction a guy wants to hear."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I just… who told you about boxer briefs?"

"I do _read_, you know. And this whole world-of-the-future does have a few things going for it."

"Does Steve know you're wearing his logo, though?"

"Only if you tell him." With a smirk, he pushed them to the floor. "Better?"

"Much." She beckoned him closer, taking him by the shoulders and pushing him back onto the bed beneath her.

His head hit the pillow hard. "Ow." Groping beneath it, he pulled out another .22 and, grinning up at her, tossed it aside.

But then his expression softened. Reaching up, he cupped her cheek with his good hand, drinking in the sight of her and she slid a leg over him. She could see the disbelief there, the hesitation. She took his other hand – the cold one, the one that they had given him – and brought it to her lips. Then she rolled her hips against him, searching, finding, her eyes locked to his as she drew him inside. James gave a shuddering sigh, his hands moving to her hips, drawing her closer, deeper. She gasped, raising her eyes to the ceiling.

The years fell away. He was hers again and she was his. Only this time there was no one coming for them, no price to be paid. In the Red Room, every pleasure had been repaid with pain. She'd carried those scars, that punishment, for years without ever knowing why. Now she knew. She knew that their masters had failed. She knew that – while the memories would never stop hurting – they had a chance to take something back, to make it somehow worth it.

James was watching her as she rose and fell, moving with her, his hands sliding up her back. Down he pulled her, pushing up to kiss her, to tangle his fingers in her hair. She smiled down at him, gasping in surprise as he pushed off from the bed, spinning to put her beneath him. He propped himself up on an elbow, sweeping the hair back from her face as he stared down at her.

"You know… this is the first time that I've been _me_ in a very long time. And the last time I remember… _this_… was you. It was always you."

She smiled, her eyes widening as he rolled his hips against hers. Then he was kissing her again, his arms braced to either side of her, his chest tensing as he rose and fell above her. It was like it had been then – desperate, eager – her teeth nipping at his lips, her nails digging at his back. He lifted one of her legs above his shoulder, driving deeper, biting a moan between gritted teeth.

Then he was lifting her to him, rocking back on his knees. She locked her legs around him, taking his face in her hands. They fit together perfectly, better than she'd remembered. But memory was just that – a shadow. You carried it with you, could never outrun it, but you could choose to look away, to turn your eyes to the light. Here, there was only the taste of him, the feel of him inside and out. Here, he was warm. And here was where she chose to be.


End file.
